


Ineffably Ruined

by tentativeTricks



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale has self-esteem issues, General audiences for now, Hey if Neil Gaiman sees this I will Die, I'm so sorry if I don't portray them right, M/M, Pretty fucking angsty, They're dads worried about the quality of their dadding, This is a one shot but who knows, crowley is soft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 11:47:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19356424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tentativeTricks/pseuds/tentativeTricks
Summary: "First Adam and I fight, and then I go and mess everything up with you- sixthousandyears of pining and containing myself and I do this and ruin everything." As he spoke, Aziraphale's eyes flooded with tears once more. His face twisted with self-loathing and misery, his heart feeling as though it was choking itself inside his chest."No, no, Angel, stop it." Crowley's face was terrified, shock hidden within his words as he frantically tried to calm the despairing angel before him."IT'S NOT OKAY!" Aziraphale screamed. Normally, when he raised his voice, he kept his sanity. His voice never lost that perfect, accented lilt. This time, the words clung as they were dragged from his throat, scratching with the hopelessness he had already enveloped himself in. "I LOVE YOU, CROWLEY." He was sobbing by now, tears streaming down his pale face. "I love you," he said with a short, desperate gasp for air. "And I just ruined everything." His voice had lowered, and in it echoed the hollowness he felt in his chest. "Everything," he whispered."No." Crowley said it gently, standing from the couch and stepping forward to cup Aziraphale's face. "No." He closed his eyes and bent down, lips pressing to the angel's.





	1. The Minor Fall

Aziraphale stood before the door to Crowley's apartment. His eyes were rimmed with red and bloodshot, white hair in disarray from being carded through by his hands. He raised a hand to knock, but the door was open before his knuckles rapped. Crowley stood in all of his demonic glory, one brow raised as his eyes gave Aziraphale a once-over.

"You look like Hell. Bit ironic, isn't it?" Crowley's voice was light but his face quickly formed into a scowl, and the next time he spoke his voice was soft and concerned. "Angel.. What happened?" He took a step to the side, opening the door and allowing Aziraphale to pass by. "I can kill people. It's a thing I can do."

"It's Adam." He sounded broken. Crowley's brows rose, serpentine eyes following Aziraphale as he stepped into the apartment.

"Alright, can't kill that one. What happened?" The demon's voice was nothing but gentle as he shut the door and followed his angel to the couch, where they both sat down. Aziraphale sat facing forward, legs together, shoulders slumped and hands clasped in his lap, allowing Crowley- who had one leg up on the couch, arm slung over the back, entire body angled towards Aziraphale -to get a view of his profile as he sat there in misery.

"We fought," the same hopelessness was etched into his words as it was his face. "Over what was best for him. He wanted to go be with his friends, but it was dark outside, and I was afraid that it was going to end badly, what with how dangerous it's been lately- and, and we began yelling and fighting-, oh, God." He had rushed out the words, voice shaking, and Crowley could see the tears forming in his eyes. His heart broke as he saw his angel's shoulders begin to shake, sobs drawn from his throat forcefully.

"Oh, Angel..." Crowley leaned forward, his hand slipping into Aziraphale's lap to grasp his hand. At that the blond looked towards him, his face screwed up with anguish as he continued crying, throwing himself into Crowley's embrace and clinging to him.

"He said that I was awful," he choked out into the fabric of Crowley's expensive jacket. "That I don't have any authority over him. I don't want to be an authority of any sort," the angel sobbed as he spoke. "I love him and I don't want to see him hurt," he pleaded, although both he and Crowley had no idea who he was trying to appease. Begging did nothing in a situation like this, but Aziraphale did it anyway, his pleas falling into empty air where Adam should have stood.

"Angel, Angel, he's a boy," Crowley soothed, though panic hid behind each word. How does one convince an angel that what they saw as their biggest mistake was just.. Human? "He's growing up, learning things for himself, learning to defy his elders. Mainly our fault, probably." His attempt to lighten the mood with their defeat of Satan drew a reluctanct, gasping laugh from Aziraphale, who momentarily forgot his ineffable agony. The agony returned and he shook his head before hiding his face in the curve of Crowley's neck, his shoulders resuming their shaking as sobs wracked his body once more, mind consumed by thoughts of all the things he had done wrong already.

"That doesn't change the fact that I fought with him!" Aziraphale's voice betrayed his desperation for everything to be resolved. Crowley drew back and cupped his angel's face in one of his hands, the other resting on the gentle slope of his shoulder. His tired face showed how undeniably pained seeing his angel so distraught was, his mind racing for solutions until it settled on a temporary fix.

"Shh." He traced his thumb along Aziraphale's cheekbone. "Get some rest. Breathe. Sleep, and we'll speak to Adam and sort things out in the morning."

Aziraphale, sniffling, hesitantly met Crowley's eyes. He saw the hopelessness and concern there and gave a small nod, reaching up to cover the lower half of his face. "I must be covered in snot." He looked away, and though Crowley would never admit it, the poor angel had just added a dry cleaners visit to Crowley's list of things to do the next day. No way could he wear that jacket until it was thoroughly rid of angel snot.

"I'll get you tissues. You know where my bedroom is." Crowley disentangled himself from the other and stood, sauntering off towards the bathroom and leaving Aziraphale, who collected himself for a few moments before slowly moving to his feet. By the time he was passing the restroom Crowley was emerging with a box of kleenex. The fallen angel put a gentle hand on the small of Aziraphale's back, guiding him into the bedroom and over to the bed, delicate movements helping to pull his jacket off. He hung it up while Aziraphale took off his shoes, blew his nose and wiped his tears, then slipped under the covers. Off came Crowley's jacket and shoes and then he was laying beside his angel, holding him and whispering soft reassurances, which lulled him slowly to sleep.

 

\--

 

Aziraphale woke slowly. He attempted to blink as he woke up, but all that crying had left salt in his lashes, so he was forced to rub them to unstick the hairs.  _How absolutely dreadful,_ he thought. He was very warm, but this he ignored, and he instead stretched a  bit. A gentle sigh, a soft groan, and his eyes were open. They felt wrong, like he had dried them out with his crying. Why was he crying again?

Oh, right. Adam. He looked around a bit.

Aziraphale finally registered the red hair in his line of sight, the faint smell of expensive cologne (though past that was the impeccably fresh air from all the plants), and not to mention how tight Crowley's arms were around him in addition to the ear pressed to his chest, right where his heart was. "Crowley," he slurred, sleep making his hands fumble as he tried to wake the demon up, shaking his shoulder. His face had gone red, and as Crowley scooted closer and hooked a leg over Aziraphale's hip, his eyes went wide and his whole body froze. He glanced around for help.

Nothing came to help.

Instead, he was left in the impenetrable embrace of a demon, whose iron grip allowed for minimal moving room. Aziraphale managed to pull Crowley's head away from his chest, and gazed at him, pausing before allowing himself to trace the planes of his handsome face. He was stubbly, that was for sure, and definitely needed chapstick. This he found out as his index finger moved slowly over the demon's lower lip, his disaster of a mind blocking out how much he shouldn't be doing this, shouldn't be fixating on those lips, wondering if the stories were true, that there came a spark with meeting the lips of someone you truly loved.

Were it another time, in a different place, he would have stopped there. Someone he truly loved? Ha! An angel couldn't love a demon, a being incapable of passion for anything but pain and death. But the time and place remained the same, the only thing different being that Aziraphale was slowly leaning in, his soft lips meeting with Crowley's unresponsive ones. Or, unresponsive until Crowley pressed closer, leaning up and groaning softly.

That broke the case around Aziraphale's mind.

"FUCK!" He pushed away, drawing from his angelic power to break Crowley's hold on him. He fell out of bed, bringing the blankets with him, though he quickly shucked them off and forcrd himself to his feet.

"Angel," Crowley's voice was sad, worried, and so deeply laced with love that Aziraphale froze. He locked eyes with the hellish man before he shook his head, face red with embarrassment and terror as he turned on his heel and ran.

He ran, and he ran, and he ran, ignoring his lack of shoes, shoving the thought of his abandoned jacket out of his mind, and he only stopped once he was completely out of breath and absolutely overwhelmed by emotions that refused to let him be.

Aziraphale, angel, divine being and child of God Herself, fell to his knees on the sidewalk of a middle-class street, at 8:03 in the morning on a chilly Tuesday, and wept. His sobs echoed along the empty street, everyone living in the houses lining the street either at work or school or away or busy or asleep. Tears splattered against and darkened the concrete, his entire body jerking with each breath, movements stiff as he yelled curses and damned himself and tried to pull his hair out. He thought his fight with Adam was agony. No, no  _this_ was agony, anguish, the lowest an angel could be without falling.

He had loved Crowley since the Garden.

He had always known it. In the back of his mind lurked a desire to be with the demon. But that demon was incapable of love, and even if he did have the ability to love, his kind hated angels and angels hated his kind. For an angel to love a demon was for an angel to be corrupt, to be fooled, to be stupid.

It was the Ineffable Plan.

It had taken him so long to accept it, to acknowledge the desire he held to be held by the tall, dark, handsome fallen angel. In Rome, he had looked over at the damned creature and felt his heart skip a beat. He had seen Crowley with those ridiculous ginger curls and those atrocious glasses (which barely hid his eyes, thank you very much) and saw the being he wished to exist with for all eternity.

And then he squashed it and kept himself quiet.

But now, he was loud, letting out the pain of thousands of years of adoration now forever worthless, as he had wrecked everything with Crowley, had committed a sin and kissed him in his sleep- he would live the rest of his life in unbearable pain as he would no doubt have to force himself away from Crowley, perhaps return to Heaven and never let Earth or Hell cross his mind again. 

Oh but yeah, as per usual, Crowley had other plans.

Quickly dressed, Crowley got in his car and decided to give his angel a moment. He had snatched his jacket and sent it to the dry cleaners before slowly exploring the city, eventually getting to a residential area and simply following the sounds of crying.

Aziraphale had sat with his rear on the concrete, head between his knees to calm the urge to vomit. He didn't notice the Bently pulling up, too wrapped up in his personal Hell to see the hellspawn right there.


	2. The Major Lift

"Angel," Crowley called.

Aziraphale's stomach churned. How could he face his one true companion through the ages after tainting their relationship? All he could do was resolve himself to the fact that Crowley would no doubt be angry, would insist that Aziraphale banish himself from the Earth, to never return and confine himself to Heaven. The only other thing he could do was wish for a different time, where he could turn back time, could ask Adam to help him rid the records of his mistakes. But now was not that time, and nor would that time ever pass.

He lifted his head, tearstained face sporting exhausted eyes, a pained expression lining his features. "Crowley," he managed to say, before the demon was roughly pulling him up by the arm and brushing off his angel's shirt.

"Get in the car," he said. His glasses covered his eyes but Aziraphale still searched for meaning behind them, confused and cautious and terrified. "We're getting ice cream. You're cleaning yourself up. And then I'm taking you home so we can talk." He turned, swaggering to his car and holding the door open for the puzzled bibliomaniac.

"But, Crowl-" He silenced himself as Crowley raised a finger and shushed him, instead looking toward the ground and meekly slipping into the vehicle.

Crowley got in, pressed play on the radio, and handed Aziraphale a packet of tissues as  _Crazy Little Thing Called Love_ filled the speakers. 

 

\--

 

Half an hour later, Crowley's freezer had acquired popsicles and ice cream bars, and Aziraphale held one such cherry popsicle. This would normally thrill him, having food, but instead he was overthinking, allowing it to melt and drip over his hand as Crowley broodingly ate an ice cream sandwich. How does one broodlignly eat an ice cream sandwich, you might ask? Well, it's Crowley. What more do you expect?

Crowley shoved the last bit of melty, chocolatey goodness into his mouth, then licked his fingers clean, giving a heavy sigh after swallowing. "I'm going to wash my hands." He stood and left, heading into the bathroom, Aziraphale's eyes following him.

Aziraphale had gotten his jacket and shoes back. He hadn't spoken a word since he had got in the car, but now he cleared his throat. Standing, he went into the kitchen and threw away the mess of a popsicle, before quickly washing his hands. When he returned to the living room he found Crowley sprawled on the couch, eyes closed and glasses missing. It was time to face his actions.

"Crowley." Aziraphale's voice, while serious, held a nervousness, tears stinging the backs of his eyes as he prepared himself to do the inevitable. Crowley made a soft sound of acknowledgement but didn't move.

"Crowley," he started again, "I am so very sorry." He paused, trying to think out his next words. "What I did was unimaginable, and, and- I understand that you want me gone now. I'll accept any request you make of me. I- I won't even think of returning to the Earth, I'll take up my Heavenly Duty, and I will never step foot in your life again." He took a breath, calming himself, which Crowley took as an opportunity.

"Oh, just shut up, Angel. It's fine." He huffed and lifted his head to look at Aziraphale, opening his eyes and raising a brow.

"Fine? What- no, no, Crowley, it isn't  _fine_ at all! I took advantage of you! it was wrong and horrible and sinful and  _awful_ _!_ " Aziraphale was beginning to hyperventilate, shoes clicking against the floor as he began to pace, eyes focusing on the ground as he worked himself up. "First Adam and I fight, and then I go and mess everything up with you- six _thousand_ years of pining and containing myself and I do this and ruin everything." As he spoke, Aziraphale's eyes flooded with tears once more. His face twisted with self-loathing and misery, his heart feeling as though it was choking itself inside his chest.

"No, no, Angel, stop it." Crowley's face was terrified, shock hidden within his words as he frantically tried to calm the despairing angel before him.

"IT'S NOT OKAY!" Aziraphale screamed. Normally, when he raised his voice, he kept his sanity. His voice never lost that perfect, accented lilt. This time, the words clung as they were dragged from his throat, scratching with the hopelessness he had already enveloped himself in. "I LOVE YOU, CROWLEY." He was sobbing by now, tears streaming down his pale face. "I love you," he said with a short, desperate gasp for air. "And I just ruined everything." His voice had lowered, and in it echoed the hollowness he felt in his chest. "Everything," he whispered.

"No." Crowley said it gently, standing from the couch and stepping forward to cup Aziraphale's face. "No." He closed his eyes and bent down, lips pressing to the angel's.

A sob ripped itself from Aziraphale's throat before he wrapped his arms around the demon, using him to keep himself upright even as the kiss lingered.

"I love you too," whispered Crowley. He slipped an arm around Aziraphale's waist and pulled them flush against each other, his hand cupping the other's face as their foreheads touched, his thumb swiping at the tears that dampened his angel's cheeks. "I just.. needed to know if you were experimenting." He gave a soft chuckle, earning a rueful laugh from the shorter being. "I've loved you since I found out you gave your sword to Adam, to protect his love. It's what I would have done."

Aziraphale had nothing to say. All he had were pitiful sobs that he muffled by moving so he was clinging to Crowley, his tears and snot staining his shirt.

Crowley would start getting angry if any more angel snot sullied his clothes. But for now, he could excuse it. He gently guided his angel to the couch, sitting with him in his lap, thin hands tracing soft circles over his back. It was only natural that Crowley began humming  _Love of my Life_ , meanwhile Aziraphale's hands were clutching the front of his shirt. It took him the entire song to begin to calm down, his sobs mellowing into hiccups and gasping breaths.

"My love," Crowley cooed, petting his hair before gently pulling away, meeting Aziraphale's eyes. "You are an absolute mess. Please, go shower before anything else? I'll pop over to your place and get you some fresh clothes. That is, if you'd like to stay for the rest of the day. You don't have to. I would love your company, though." He rambled slightly, before raising his brows and gauging Aziraphale's reaction.

Aziraphale took a second to ponder over his choices. Stay, calm down, and explore this new chapter of his life with Crowley? Or go home, find comfort in his books, and take a breather? "I don't know," he admitted. "I can just wear this," he glanced down at himself, "but perhaps we could go to lunch, or something?"

Crowley smiled. Soft, and warm, and absolutely in love, he smiled and straightened Aziraphale's jacket. "That'd be perfect, my love."

Aziraphale flushed. His eyes searched the demon's before he gave his own smile, feeling his heart thud in his chest as he leaned in, meeting Crowley's lips in a tender kiss before he was pulling back to clear his throat and stand. "I'm going to go shower. See you soon, dear." Another smile, one of pure bliss, and he was heading towards the bathroom and leaving Crowley with a dopey grin.

"Dear," he said, testing the word in his mouth. "See you soon."

 

-

 

Aziraphale closed his eyes and smiled. The sweetness of the cake flooded his mouth, making him sigh through his nose. A moment later and he was swallowing, patting his lips with a napkin. "Absolutely divine," he said dreamily, then looked to Crowley. "The frosting on this is delicious, dear. How is your angel food cake?" He glanced at Crowley's plate, and saw it untouched. A frown graced his lips. 

"Oh, uh, also delecious. Mhm." Crowley rushed to tear a piece off his light, fluffy cake, stuffing it in his mouth and swallowing with barely tasting it. To this, Aziraphale rolled his eyes. "So, we should get on topic."

"On topic?" Aziraphale, of course, knew precisely what Crowley was talking about. But he just sipped his tea.

"Well, yeah. Friends for six thousand years and now we've kissed. Quite a few times, might I add." 

"It's not  _that_ many times." He paused. "Is it?"

"Maybe you're right. Three kisses, not that much. But we could change it." A spluttering cough paired with a soft squeal from Aziraphale brought a grin to Crowley's lips. The demon tipped down his glasses and winked.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale chided, then set down his cup and dabbed at his lips with his napkin again. "Honestly. We do need to speak, and in a serious manner. We must decide what will happen now." 

Crowley nodded. " _I_ think we should date. Movies and such. Dinners together. Maybe even start saying that we're boyfriends."

Aziraphale's throat gained a lump. He had once had no issue with relationships with two males; it was a cultural norm, after all. But as time went on and demons tweaked the Bible, mistranslations led to rampant homophobia. Grown men on the streets screamed that those who loved people of the same sex were going to Hell, that God- who would never say such a thing -hated them, and that had affected Aziraphale. He lived in terror that what they said was true. He cried at night over his fears, praying to his Heavenly Mother that She forgive him for loving men, for looking at Crowley and dreaming about their wedding. Even now, tears welled in his eyes, and he stomped down the urge to run away. 

"I would like that very much," he whispered, even now praying for forgiveness.  _Mother, please forgive me._ He let out a quiet, pained sob, covered by a cough. He looked up at Crowley.

And Crowley was pissed.

No, not at his angel. Not at his gorgeous, sweet, loving angel, but at the pain he could see on his face, at the fears he could read plain as day. He bit back his anger and reached to grab Aziraphale's hand, stopping at his flinch and letting his hand fall empty to the table.

"Then we'll do it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the cliffhanger and the pain. Honestly, writing Aziraphale's feelings about same-sex relationships hurt me to write, and I might go back and alter it later once I can ignore my own pain on the topic. Stay safe, and please, follow your heart. Humans can't speak on God's behalf and doing so is disrespectful, and that's all those "Jesus Hates F*gs" preachers are. You matter. You're worth it. Love who you love. Never be ashamed of who you or your partner are. Never be ashamed of your past, present, or future. Be you. If you ever need someone to speak to, if you ever need a shoulder to cry on, I'm here and I love you. If asked I'll give out my Instagram or e-mail for anyone :)

**Author's Note:**

> Noticed grammar or spelling mistakes that are driving you insane? Comment and I'll get on them ASAP I promise.  
> I decided to make this three chapters! I was planning on throwing it all into one messy chapter but dividing it up seems more organized for one, an it also builds more suspense so yeehaw


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